


Galactica - Requim

by TheArtificialDane, veronicasanders



Series: Galactica [9]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtificialDane/pseuds/TheArtificialDane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicasanders/pseuds/veronicasanders
Summary: Violet recieves a letter. Her stepfather is dead. This is what happens when a mothers love forces her to face her worst fears.Galactica, Cassiopeia and Paris AU tie in.





	Galactica - Requim

“Make a right.” **  
**

Sutan nodded, Violet guiding him through a tiny suburb outside Atlanta, the city sign saying Lilburn. Violet had gotten the message a little over a week ago that her stepdad had died, his wife barely reacting as she read the letter that had arrived to their New York address from someone who had called himself Dax. Sutan had never seen Violet’s childhood home, had never met anyone from the family that had his wife for the first 13 years of her life. He didn’t know what he was expecting. He turned down the road, it all looking strangely normal. Where Violet had grown up just a normal neighborhood filled with small suburban homes with front lawns, trampolines and garages.

They had attended the service after circling for what felt like hours looking for the right church, the town feeling like it was 80% churches compared to Manhattan. The service was surprisingly full from what little Sutan had heard from Violet about the kind of person her stepdad had been. They had slipped in and sat at the very back, Sutan holding Violet’s hand through the entire thing. Sutan hadn’t even realised he had never seen a photo of Violet’s stepdad, until he was faced with the picture of him next to the casket, a large brunette man looking back at him. Sutan knew that his name was John, and how Violet’s expression darkened when she was forced to talk about him. What was the most bizarre of all though, was when he spotted a short plump woman at the very front of the church. She had to be Abigail Dardo. She was saying hello to everyone, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, her blonde hair in big curls, her blue eyes so unlike his wife, the only thing they had in common the set of their mouth and, as Sutan looked closely, the shape of theirs hands. He had wanted to get a better look at the woman who had attempted to raise the woman he loved, curiosity nearly killing the cat, but Violet had left the church in a hurry after the service, almost like she had spotted something.

”Here…”

Sutan stopped the car outside a completely normal two story house with a porch and a garage. They had circled around town, Violet clearly trying to kill time, though Sutan had no idea what she was waiting for, pointing him in different directions. They had passed a small run down dance studio, Violet gently touching his arm to make him slow down, though she hadn’t asked him to stop. The house had been the first place she had actually talked to him. Another car was parked there as well, Violet jumping when she spotted it, but she hadn’t said anything.

“So.. This is where you grew up?”

Violet nodded, his wife twisting the wedding ring on her finger again and again, the thin gold band rubbing back and forth. Violet hadn’t told him what they were doing here, but he knew she wouldn’t have insisted on going if there wasn’t something truly important she had to do, something she had to get.

“Are you sure you want to go in?”

Sutan looked over at Violet, the woman still quiet, just as she had been on the entire trip to Georgia. “Alright.” It was something he had learned to accept, even if he didn’t like it, but after almost two decades of marriage, Violet’s silence when it all became too much was as expected as how she always curled up in his arms to find enough peace to sleep after a day just like this. “Let’s go.”

Sutan moved to open his door, but Violet reached out, catching his wrist in her hand, stopping him.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Sutan smiled, his heart filled with tender affection, Violet’s voice so very small. “I’d never let you go alone.” Sutan kissed her gently, before opening his door and stepped out on the cold winter road.

///

Violet took a deep breath, her hand shaking as she reached for the doorbell. Walking up to the house had felt like walking in a dream, everything so surreal. She knew she had fallen into silence, that Sutan was worried about her, but how could she not when everything around was just like when she was small, the road one she remembered so vividly, walking home in her beat up trainers, her heels now clacking on the same pavement that had tormented her.

She didn’t want to do this, but she knew exactly who she had to do it for.

Violet pressed the bell, a riiing sounding from inside the house, a dog started yapping, and Violet could hear footsteps, more footsteps than she expected, and then, the door opened.

“Oh..” This was yet another person Sutan had never seen before. She was shorter than Violet, a few years younger too. “So it was actually you.” She had clearly been crying, her mascara smudged. A toddler was on her hip, a little boy staring at them. “Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse.”

“Hello Becky…”

“What do you want?”

Sutan could feel Violet’s fingers tighten on his arm, his wife’s nails digging into his jacket. The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, Violet and the woman who Violet had called Becky staring at each other, both looking like they expected war to break out. Becky’s blonde hair was in a half bun, her black dress still on, the child also dressed up.

“Hi there.” Sutan held his hand out. “I’m Suta-”

“I know who you are. I watch TV.”

“Ah.” Sutan put his hand back in his pocket.

“Is…” Sutan could see Violet was visually struggling, his wife looking like she was about to vomit. “Abigail here?”

“She didn’t want to leave the cemetery just yet.”

“Can we come in?” Sutan looked at the stranger.

“Not until /she/-” Becky looked at Violet. “-tells me why you’re here.”

“I…” Violet’s nails dug even further, Sutan swearing he could feel them pierce his skin even through his layers of clothes. “I’m here… I’m here to pick up- It’s-”

“I forgot for a second that you were legally retarded.”

“I’m not-”

“You never could take a joke,” Becky rolled her eyes. “Come inside before Joshie freezes.” The woman stepped aside, bumping the toddler up.

They stepped in, Sutan closing the door behind them. {Who is she?} Sutan whispered as he took Violet’s coat, the French easily falling from his lips.

{My sister}

{You have a sister?} Violet had never mentioned a sister.

{Half-sister.}

Meanwhile Becky had put the toddler down who quickly disappeared, the voices of several kids being drowned out by the television in the next room.  

“Is… is that your son?” Violet swallowed, the woman clearly uncomfortable.

“As if you care.”

“Beck-”

“His name is Joshua, he’s 2. Youngest of three.” Becky turned to them, looking Sutan up and down. “Where’s your kid?”

Violet looked at Becky with surprise. “My kid?”

“I read too. Amazing that I learned how in Lilburn, huh Blair?” Becky huffed. “You didn’t leave her in the car, did you?”

Sutan took a slight step forward, Becky’s tone like every model who had ever thrown her drink; Snide and filled with venom. “Our daughter is at school. We didn’t think it necessary to bring her here.” Neither of them had even told Melati that John had died. Their daughter knew very little of Violet’s family, their child actually fully believing her mother was French until they had relocated to America in her early teens. Melati had never met Violet’s parents, had never even heard their name. Melati had asked, just once, but Violet had told her she already her a grandma, that her Nenek was there and that had been the end.

“Of course. Because nothing here has ever been good enough for you.”

“Good enough?” Violet felt a flicker of anger in her belly, the flame the first emotion besides nausea she had felt since she and Sutan had stepped on the plane in New York. “Good enough for me?”

“Yes. you heard me. You show up now that my dad is dead, show up in your fucking.. Designer clothes, and you want to play family? You want to pretend everything is fine?”

“I’d rather die than ever pretend anything that happened in this house was fine.” Violet knew that Becky had never been on her side, but to hear it from an adult instead of a little girl hurt more than a slap to the face. Their parents had always favored Becky, John calling her his little princess. Becky could do no wrong, the girl always praised by their parents, Violet forced to sit and watch TV whenever Becky wanted to, forced to eat food she didn’t like because Becky wanted it, forced to go to every school event because Becky wanted to with her friends from her grade while Violet did her best to be invisible. She had spent a childhood of being invisible, of having nothing, and even though Sutan hadn’t said anything, she knew she wasn’t alone. She had a life now, an actual life she build for herself. She had a company and a career, a husband she loved, she had friends and her dogs and most importantly she had the daughter she was doing this for.

“You’ve always been so dramatic.”

“I was tortured Becky, tortured for, for years, and the man who did it is finally in the groun-”

“Don’t you DARE say stuff like that about my dad! He was a good man.”

Violet couldn’t do anything but stare, the room going completely silent, the TV still running in the other room. “Is that what you truly believe?”

“You have no idea how hard it was for them. You got into that, that ballet school and then you suddenly disappeared. You stopped coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Not even a single birthday card and then you show up in the magazines under a completely different name dating… dating him?” She gestured at Sutan. “And you didn’t even tell us? Mama found out from someone at church, at church Blair! You throw away the only number we have for you and you’re gone, except your face keeps showing up throwing your success in our faces! My dad was a good man who did everything for you, and you never appreciated any of it.”

“Can I use the restroom?”

///

“Close the door.”

Sutan closed the door behind him, quickly locking it as he still balanced their jackets. Becky’s words ringing in his ears. He took a deep breath through his nose, his fists still clenching and unclenching. Sutan prided himself on not being a man who was angered easily. He couldn’t, not in his profession, not with the way he lived his life, but his chest was burning hot. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. How the person who was apparently his wife’s sister defended a man who had done so much damage to the woman he loved. Siblings were suppose to look out for each other, were suppose to protect each other. He couldn’t even imagine how he would have attempted to survive growing up without Raja, a world truly without his sister one he didn’t even want to think of, and here he was, witnessing parts of why his wife was exactly the way she was. Her pride, her walls, the sometimes frightening stoicism that could overtake her when she was pushed to her breaking point.

“Darling-” Sutan wanted to reach out, to touch and soothe and understand. To make sure that Violet was still there and that she was okay, but Violet hiked her skirt up and got on her knees, Sutan freezing in place. “Lovely eyes, what are you-”

“Hush. Please.” Violet tapped her knuckles on one of the tiles next to the sink. “I can’t stay in this house another minute.” Violet tapped another tile, and Sutan got down on his knees as well.

“What’s going-”

Violet tapped a third tile. “There.” Sutan watched as his wife put her nails against the wall, popping the tile out, revealing a small empty tunnel in the wall. Violet reached inside, a whisper of “Oh thank god.” falling from her lips as she pulled a tin box into the light. The box was old, the flower pattern on it clearly painted with a child’s hand, a fine layer of dust covering it.

“Is that why we’re here?”

It seemed strange, but also so very very like the woman that he had married; that she would willingly walk through fire for something as absurd as a tin box not even a surprise. Violet nodded, shaking it gently, the sound of several small items rustling inside.

“I don’t want to explain this house, this.. Any of this..” Violet looked at Sutan, her brown eyes blank with unshed tears, her cheeks a pale rose, her lip thick from how Sutan knew she had bitten it. “I don’t want this to be the story my daughter knows, for it.. For it to be her story..” Sutan nodded. Even though Violet was in her 40s, even though they had gone through so much together, she was still trying to escape something, still trying to run away from a piece of herself, and after seeing the scene in the hallway, Sutan felt like he understood it all slightly better.

“She’s so much more than this, so much more than me.. She’s.. She’s so much more than us.” Violet was whispering again. “I have never had words and I’ve never been good at explaining. I mean.. You know that..”

Sutan smiled slightly, his hand finding Violet’s neck, his palms holding her and grounding her. “I do.”

“But I’ll have this now..” Violet gave the box to Sutan. “And that has to be enough..”

“I’m sure it will be.” Sutan kissed Violet, their lips meeting in a gentle, closed mouthed peck, years of comfort and trust in that single movement. “Do you want to go home?”

“More than anything else.”

///

Sutan was sure Violet was seconds from just toeing off her Louboutins and running out the door like Cinderella, but all things considered she was surprisingly calm, her entire body clamping up again the moment he had opened the door to the bathroom.

They made their way down the stairs, just as the front door opened and the worst possible thing that could happen walked through it. Abigail Dardo.

Abigail stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes meeting Violet. “You’ve actually come.”

Violet froze. Pure terror radiating off her, her breath stopping. Abigail looked like a perfectly normal human being. Sutan knew she was two years younger than him and he had nearly choked on his drink when Violet had shared the fact with him. Abigail might actually have looked sweet, like a grandma who tried to stay young, but by Violets reaction, all Sutan could see was someone who had hurt the woman he loved so much that she would forever be damaged by it.

“John would be so happy you’re here, oh I knew you would regret all that nonsense from your youth Blair.”

“Excuse me ma’am, but we were just leaving.” Sutan put a hand in the small of Violet’s back, pushing her forwards as he tried to move in front of her, casually shielding her body like he had done so many times before from interviewers or photographers.

“But you just got here-”

“Flight to catch, can’t wait.” Sutan smiled, taking another few steps towards the door. “We’re very sorry for your loss, may he rest in peace.” Sutan didn’t want John to rest in peace, not even a little, actually he would be quite content if John Dardo spent the rest of eternity in christian hell being spitroasted by the devil.

“Let me see you. You’re so tall.” Abigail blocked their exit, staring at Violet. “You look so different from the last time I saw you..” If the little girl in the photo was anything to go by, Sutan couldn’t agree more. Violet had grown into an adult, a woman who was confident and competent, who carried herself with pride so unlike the few pictures Sutan had seen from her early college days and what little video he had found from the ballet.

“Come here Blair bear.” Abigail reached out, clearly trying to hug Violet, and then it happened.

“NO!”

Violet’s shout was loud and clear, her hands in front of her as she had just pushed her mother away, her eyes large, like she couldn’t believe what she had just done. “No.”

“Blair, what are you-”

“My husband and I are leaving. Right now.”

///

Violet slammed the car door behind her, her pulse racing. She hadn’t seen her mother in the flesh since she was 16, hadn’t seen the woman who had caused her so much pain since she had gotten injured and had dropped out of the Ballet Academy. Violet felt dirty, her skin almost itching where her mother had touched her, light sweat covering her body.

“Can we go?! Please-”

Violet knew she was being hysterical, knew she wasn’t fair, but everything in her told her to chose fight or flight and she had no intention of fighting.

“We can go to the airport right away” Sutan started the car, pulling away from the driveaway and out into the big road.

“No.” Violet couldn’t handle the idea of an airport, couldn’t stand the idea of so many strangers around her, people looking at her, wondering about her. “Just. I can’t fly, I need- Can we just- drive- I- please?”

“It’s a 12 hour drive my love.”

Violet knew she was asking a lot of her husband, knew she was being terribly unfair, knew what she was requesting wasn’t okay, but she couldn’t go to the airport. Her mind was racing at the risk of being followed, and the only thing she could think of that would help was an open highway, driving as fast as they could. “Please.”

Sutan looked at her, and Violet couldn’t help but worry he would say no, that he would tell her she was overreacting and that she was being dramatic.

“Of course darling. Of course.”

////

Melati was typing away on her computer, her art history essay unfortunately not writing itself. Next to her she had the thick dictionary she had gotten as a gift from her aunt Fame. Most of her classmates didn’t understand why Melati prefered a physical dictionary whenever she could, but it just wasn’t the same with an online one, her brain that was heavily anchored in french not truly understanding a new word unless she did the physical act of looking up a word. It was most likely something she had picked up in Paris, her private school there so focused on papers and actual books that even after she had fully transferred into the american school system, there was still something about it.

Melati heard a knock on the door, her mother standing there with a steaming cup of tea in hand.

{How’s the exam going?}

{Okay.} Melati smiled, moving the piece she was working on away so Violet could put the cup down next to her computer, the scent of peach tea filling her nose. {Thank you Mama.} Melati turned her attention back on her computer, but a small cough made her look back up.

{I.. Umh..} Violet sat down. {I have something for you.}

{You do?}

Melati didn’t often get presents from her mom, gifts so much more something her dad excelled at and found delight in.

Violet placed a tin box on the desk. {Here.}

{What is it?}

{Something I had long ago..} Violet smiled, her eyes sad. {I know.. I know I haven’t always been.. Good.. at answering your questions.}

Melati felt a brief stab in her heart. To say that her mother wasn’t good at answering questions would be the understatement of the century, if not the millennium. She had never thought about how little she knew as a child. She knew her father’s family, summers in Indonesia with her toes in the sand and she had thought she knew her mother, Autumn in Paris with the leaves falling and slow weekends spend in the country home eating grapes and playing with Frida. Melati Lavender Amrull had known who she was, what she came from, until she had found out that France wasn’t her mother’s blood after all, and that there was so much she had no idea about.

{I didn’t.. The reason I haven’t told you much- I… Melati, I want you to understand.. I wasn’t a very happy child.. And that’s.. I want so much more for you, puppet.} Violet gently stroked Melati’s cheek, her cool thumb gliding over brown skin. {I can’t give you everything you ask for, but I can give you this..} Violet pushed the box forwards.

Melati looked at her mother, confusion without a doubt clear on her face as she gently opened the box, the thing creaking slightly.

{These are.. Things, I hid as a child. Things that were important to me. Treasures that brought me comfort and joy.}

Inside there was a picture of a little girl with a backpack that looked almost twice the size she was, a timid smile on the child’s lips. Melati instantly recognizing the nose and she realized it was the first photo she had ever seen of her mother as a child. There was a smooth white rock, a piece of thick white ribbon, three light blue marbles, a piece of rosa soap shaped like a flower, a single dangling earring with a red stone and three cents.

Melati held up the photo, studying it.

{That’s from my first day of school. The backpack was my favorite.} Violet smiled. I never really.. I never liked going to school.}

{Why?}

{I might tell you another time.}

Melati nodded. Normally a response like that from her mother would make annoyance rush through her, but as she looked at the things, she realised that this was more than she had ever been told before. Even though the things that had been saved might have looked jumbled to a stranger, Melati felt like she recognised it all from her mother’s designs. The childhood treasures all carrying the sense of gravity and wistfulness that so many praised the Chachki universe for. A somber longing for something else. A childish hope that something could change. A promise that the future could somehow be better.

{Thank you Mama. Thank you for these.} Melati reached out, taking her mother’s hand in hers, Violet holding it tight. Violet nodded, the grip of her fingers trying to express everything she couldn’t say with words.


End file.
